


His Home

by general_ginger



Series: The Beginning, The End, And Everything In Between [4]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Russo is an Emotional Disaster, Daredevil Basically Saved the Day, F/M, Frank Castle has feelings, Karen Page being Soft, M/M, The Carousel Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_ginger/pseuds/general_ginger
Summary: “How—did we end up like—this, Frankie?”Castle spat out some blood of his own, registering with detached curiosity that it didn’t originate from a split lip or a knocked-out tooth. He blinked, trying and failing to clear his vision, and rolled to the side, staring into the mess that used to be Billy Russo’s face.“You killed my family.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After the amazing feedback for "Attaboy" (thank you so much, peeps!), I've decided to work on this rather sooner than later. "Attaboy" and "His Home" will form the enclosing beginning and ending for a semi-/non-canon compliant series of pieces on Frank and Billy.

Blood seeped from the wound in Frank’s neck, escaping the firm pressure of his hand, trickling its steady little _drip-drip-drip_ onto the splintered wood of the carousel floor beneath him. The colourful lights had turned to neon, swirling and swimming before his eyes. It should hurt, make him sick; but instead they melted into what he imagined the aurora borealis to look like, without having actually seen it ever before.

Next to him, head turned to face him and close enough to touch, Billy choked out a wet cough, blood spraying onto Frank’s cheek to mix with his own in a fine, red mist. His face looked worse for wear, deep cuts interlacing until there was barely any face _left_ to gaze at, the once handsome features vanished under mirror shards and torn flesh and _so much blood_. It was all that he could see, a layer of red covering the world around him; and the sheer agony warped what remained of his vision.

It was a miracle that he was still conscious, if only barely, slipping in and out. He had always been stubborn like this, clinging to whatever scrap that was thrown his way, including his own life.

“How—did we end up like— _this_ , Frankie?”

Castle spat out some blood of his own, registering with detached curiosity that it didn’t originate from a split lip or a knocked-out tooth. He blinked, trying and failing to clear his vision, and rolled to the side, staring into the mess that used to be Billy Russo’s face.

“You killed my family.”

He didn’t, technically; but this wasn’t the time for semantics.

An odd sense of calm washed over him. He remembered the blinding rage, remembered trying to kill Billy, craving nothing more than to immobilize him with a bullet and then beat beat _beat_ until he’d stop _moving_ , stopped _looking_ at him from those cool brown eyes of his. But now everything was quiet and numb and all he wanted was for it to be _over_.

“You married her,” Russo ground out, rolling closer to him. “Her. I warned you. I wanted—you, _us_. Why’d you go and marry _her_. Why couldn’t you love me like you loved her.”

Frank laughed. Tried to. Choked on the blood filling his mouth, swallowed, then bared his teeth in a crimson, feral smile. “I did,” he replied, shifting halfway onto his side, as much as his cracked ribs would allow for. “You idiot, I did. Always, all of those years. But you— _you_ wouldn’t have it. No strings attached, no commitment. Didn’t wanna pressure you into any of it. And then Maria came along, and she offered _me_ what you were unable to give. Family. Belonging.”

Somewhere behind Billy, almost hidden by the splintered, blood-spattered wooden horses, a third body was curled up on the floor, bleeding out like they were. Mahdani shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have gotten involved in their private war, and she was paying a high price for her mistake. At least Frank could be certain that David, Sarah and the kids were safe.

He cupped a hand underneath Billy’s jaw, careful not to apply any pressure on the deep gashes across his face. The man was suffering already for what he had done to his family, and soon, he would not be able to ever hurt anyone he cared for again.

Bill nuzzled into his touch despite the agony even such a minute turn of his head brought, hissing through his teeth as he closed his eyes.

“I wish things had turned out different,” Castle murmured, inching closer. The pulse under his hand was slowing from the adrenaline-induced erratic thrum to a flutter, growing weaker by the minute. “I wish you hadn’t been so desperate to prove yourself.”

He draped an arm over Russo’s side, holding him close. Both of their breathing was laboured, Frank’s tinged with the painful rattle of broken ribs, Billy’s wet from the blood filling his throat, no matter how often he attempted to swallow it down. “Wish you had trusted me to take care of you.”

Russo’s hand came to a rest on his hip, barely noticeable through layers of military-grade clothing. He curled his fingers into the black, damp fabric, refusing to let go of him. “Would you—have died for me, Frankie?”

“Without a second thought,” Castle pressed into the dark brown strands of hair clinging to Billy’s forehead, slick with blood and sweat. “I’d have done anythin’ to save you.”

“Didn’t need any saving,” came the immediate protest, weak as it was, but Frank merely slipped a hand behind Billy’s head, cupping it to hold him close as he brushed a kiss to the crown of his head. “You did,” he insisted, shushing his friend with another press of his lips lower, against the shell of his ear. Russo winced in pain.

“You were lost. I prayed that I could give you what you needed—recognition, a sense of belonging, a _family_. But—I knew. I knew that there was nothing I could do to fill that hole in your heart.” He choked on another fit of coughs, this time more painful, more insistent, than the one before. This was going to be over soon, he realised, and wondered whether there would be enough time to call Karen before it was too late. Billy’s frame shook with his violent hacking. “I just—I wish you’d have let me in, Bill.”

His chest vibrated with Russo’s weak hum of agreement. He didn’t have the breath left for words, merely curled as close against Frank’s body as he could, seeking a last moment of the warmth and safety he had grown accustomed to.

He had never been able to voice it, but Frank was the only one who had found a crack in his shell and made a place for himself in his heart, maybe not filling the void, but holding his hand so he would not lose himself in it.

Billy closed his eyes, and took another deep breath of their mixed blood and sweat and gunpowder and tears.

_Frank was his home._


	2. Chapter 2

Frank opened his eyes to the piercing glare of a strip light on the ceiling over his head and the sensation of a small hand cupping his own. He blinked, slowly, turning his head sluggishly to inspect his surroundings.

Window, blinds drawn.

Bedside table. Two bouquets of flowers, one with pink freesia and gillyflower, the other one with cheerful yellow sunflowers.

An IV drip filled with clear fluid, heart monitor. He wasn’t hooked up to a mechanical ventilator. Good sign.

On the other side of his bed, a visitor’s chair. In it, the person holding his hand, dozing with her head dropped to her shoulder.

“ _Karen_.”

Frank’s voice was rough from disuse, his throat dry and aching. His temples pounded with a headache that grew worse by the minute. Whatever was in the IV drip, it wasn’t helping.

The blonde woman in the chair by his bed worke with a start, the weak grasp on his hand slipping. She rose halfway from her seat, then cupped a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to suppress a broken sob.

“ _Frank_ —oh, Frank, I’m so—you’re awake, I—”

She leant over the bed, blinking furiously against the sting of tears as she wrapped one arm around Frank’s shoulders, much to his ribs’ protest. He bit down a wince and instead held onto her, one hand in her hair, the other one coming around to stroke her back soothingly.

“I’m here, Karen. I’m here. ‘s alright. Not going anywhere.”

Karen laughed wetly, her tears soaking the shoulder of his hospital gown. After a moment, she pulled back, coming to sit on the side of his bed. “I should stop making a habit of crying into whatever you’re wearing,” she joked weakly, carefully dabbing at her eyes with the cuff of her blouse sleeve.

“I’d say you can cry all over my shirt whenever you please, but I’d rather not see you in tears.”

Physically too weak to lean up and press a kiss to her tear-stained cheek, all Frank could do was to squeeze her hand reassuringly, lacing his fingers through hers. They sat for a moment in comfortable silence as they both collected themselves, staring at each other, even though Frank had a hard time keeping his eyes open against the bright neon light.

“Daredevil found you,” Karen finally broke the silence, averting her gaze. “You, and Russo, and Agent Mahdani. He called an ambulance and kept you alive until they arrived.”

“Jesus,” Frank whispered, running the hand hooked up to the IV over his face. It throbbed in response, like he had been hit like a truck. Which was not too far from the truth. “Are they—dead?”

Karen shook her head, and the painful clench around Frank’s heart eased. _They’re alive_. Mahdani and Russo. Both alive and—and. Safe.

“Agent Mahdani has been shot in the head, but she’s already recovering, from what I’ve heard,” Karen explained, taking Frank’s larger hand between both of her own. They felt soft against his calloused skin. “Russo…is alive, but he’s in coma, Frank. Maybe he’ll wake up again. Maybe he won’t.” She looked up at him, a wobbly smile on her lips. “It’ll all be fine, I’m certain of it. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Frank nodded numbly. There was a gaping hole in his heart, where Billy had been. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t clench his stomach with a fist of fiery rage. It simply… _was_.

Maybe the pain would come, the anger return. But for now, he was glad that Billy had survived.

He cupped Karen’s hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Tell Daredevil that I’m grateful for what he did.”

“He’ll want to speak to you, anyway,” Karen responded, caressing his bruised cheek gingerly with her free hand, careful to avoid the blotches of purple mottling his cheekbone. “You’ve been acquitted of all charges against you, most likely less out of gratitude and rather to keep you from tattling on the CIA, but…Frank Castle is a free man.” She shrugged, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Or rather, Pete Castiglione is. Frank Castle doesn’t exist anymore.”

Frank remained silent for a moment, frowning at the thin blanket covering him up to his chest. That did explain the lack of handcuffs, and now that he thought about it, it came as no surprise. Of course the CIA would attempt to sweep their own failings under the carpet.

But then again, he was receiving a second chance. A new beginning.

“I won’t be able to stay,” he blurted out suddenly. Karen smiled that sad little smile of hers, like she had known he was going to say that. She probably had.

“Promise you won’t vanish without saying goodbye?”

“I’d never,” Frank reassured her, then remembered that, technically, he had faked his own death before. Karen gave him a look that indicated she was thinking exactly the same. He shook his head with a rough chuckle. “Sorry, that’s bullshit. I promise I’ll never just walk out on you again, Karen. You deserve better than that.”

“You should see your friend, as well. David Lieberman,” she clarified out, casting a quick glance to the bouquet of freesia and gillyflower. “He seems like a good person. He visited twice, while you were still out cold. His wife and kids are really sweet.”

A smile tugged on Castle’s lips. He wouldn’t be able to stay, no matter how much he would miss Zach and Leo, David and Sarah. They would understand, in time; but it would be unfair to not at least make his farewells. Even if it would hurt.

Karen bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth before getting up from the bed, carefully straightening out her blouse and skirt. Her eyes were still red from crying, but a rosy flush had returned to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I—I know you’ve only just woken up, but I have to get back to the office before Foggy kills Matt over some triviality,” she apologised, reluctantly picking up the bag sitting on the floor next to her chair. It was obvious that there was a lot she’d rather do than play the buffer between the lawyers. “I’ll visit you again tonight, if you’d like me to.”

Frank smiled warmly, reaching out to touch her hand a last time. “I’d love that, Karen. You take care of yourself, ‘aight? Tell Murdock and Nelson that the Punisher will come for them if they harm a single hair on your head.”

“Jesus, Frank,” Karen chided, but she laughed nevertheless. “I’ll see you later, don’t scare the nurses.”

Her light perfume lingered even after she had left.

 

Frank rested back against the pillow, closing his eyes.

_Billy was alive._


End file.
